A Lady in Attendance Read online

  “I was . . . I am going to tell you, but it is so much harder than I had expected. I want so badly for it all to go away. Then we could sit on this hill and savor this beautiful day.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. There he sat, his forehead creased with worry, dark-brown eyes searching her, pleading for understanding. “If I’d only had the foresight to see all of this. To see you. I would have lived so differently.”

  “Tell me.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You can trust me.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “It hurts, knowing that you’ll never look at me the same way again. I love how you look at me.”

  “I’ll still look at you just as I am right now.” His innocent face, so naive, so full of kindness and hope. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

  “My mother,” she began, “says I was notorious for getting into scrapes even when I was small. I have a few scars to prove it.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t have your nursing experience when you were young,” he said, the tips of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. “With all those injuries, that would have been helpful.”

  “It’s not as though I would have doctored myself. I was little.” She gnawed on her bottom lip. “I may have exaggerated my medical experience when I was so desperate for a job. I do have an uncle who is a doctor, and I did go to his house one summer. I didn’t mean to lie to you. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

  “I knew you hadn’t spent much time in the medical field from the first day.”

  “You did?” She was surprised, as he’d never mentioned her inadequacies. “I thought I was convincing.”

  “Anyone who has spent time in the medical field knows the name of a scalpel. You called it the little knife.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I didn’t care. You were good with the patients and willing to learn.”

  “Now you know the truth about my medical experience. I’ve confessed to one thing today. I think that’s enough.” Fear took over. She pointed toward his art supplies and asked, “Didn’t you come here to paint?”

  “Not so fast,” he said with enough force that she froze, startled. “I long to sit here with you and smell the crispness in the air and watch the leaves fall from the trees. I want to hold your hand and perhaps be bolder still, but I can’t. Not until you tell me what is weighing on you. It’s between us. I can feel it, and seeing you wrestle with whatever it is tells me that we must face it or this can’t be.”

  He stood, looked at her, and paused before reaching for his paints.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need you to talk to me, but you’re not. I think I’ll paint another time. I seem to have lost my desire to create.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him back down onto the blanket. “Where has the quiet, pleasant Gil gone? You have your own secrets, don’t you?”

  “Very few, but I’ll tell them to you if you’d like.” He ran a hand over his scruffy jaw. “Once when I was a boy, I snuck into the kitchen and ate half a pie without permission. Everyone was shocked, and they sent me to bed without supper.”

  “That is hardly a damning confession.” She threw the leaf she was holding at him. “Is that your worst? Your innocence is further proof that I am not your equal. Don’t you see, you are perfect. You’re the most moral, kind man there has ever been. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ve never been sorrier that I have so few transgressions. I was late to school a few times, and I’m sure I talked back to my father.” He leaned in and spoke with urgency. “And I have unkind thoughts whenever Alberta comes in. I think of all the awful things I wish I could say to her. Surely that’s a sin.”

  She groaned. This budding friendship that she found herself wishing could be something else could never be. Tears stung her eyes, leaving her regretting ever taking a job working for Gilbert, because letting him go was going to be harder than she’d ever imagined. “You are a perfect saint. We both know God will overlook your thoughts about Alberta. He is probably shouting your praises because you have not strangled the woman.”

  “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go throw a rock through the schoolhouse’s window or swipe a loaf of bread from the bakery.” He took her hand again, holding it tightly and looking directly at her stinging eyes. “So, our pasts are different. You were a devilish child, and I was an angel. I think we could reconcile that.”

  She shook her head. “There’s so much more.”

  He sank back on the blanket, propped himself up on an elbow, and waited, so unaware of what she was about to throw at him. “We have all day.”

  “I was a reckless child, and most people just laughed when I was young. Then I grew up, and I don’t think anyone knew what to do with me. I lived by my own rules.”

  “What kinds of rules?” he asked. “Were you a girl who hated skirts?”

  “No. I dressed the part of a lady. It was little things when I was small. Once I walked atop the railing of the stairs. It was three stories down to the entryway, and I thought nothing of the consequences of falling. Somehow I grew from railing walking to much more serious offenses without ever putting together the simple fact that actions have consequences.”

  “Tell me more,” he whispered.

  “If that’s not sufficient evidence of the perfect heathen I was, I’ll tell you more. When I was older, I bullied and bossed our maids and nannies into giving me what I wanted. I ran through my father’s pocketbook whenever I could. I owned more dresses than any girl ought to, and I had a closet full of hats I never wore but complained that I didn’t have enough. But even that was not as horrible as what I became.”

  She spoke a little softer when she went on. “My parents threw me a party when I was sixteen to introduce me to society. I remember walking down the stairs after being announced, and everyone turned and stared at me. I liked the way the men’s eyes lingered on me and how the women’s eyes burned with envy. I became like Florence at the corn husking.” She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t like Florence. I was worse.”

  He sat up stiffly, forsaking his casual pose for a tense one, like a man braced for a blow. Gil’s soft eyes turned away from her. “So my walk across the barn was not your only moment as the belle of the ball. You’ve been that girl before.”

  “I wish I could tell you it was the first time,” she whispered. “I wish it had been.”

  “And these men, you . . .” The words he wanted to say, the questions he harbored, he couldn’t voice. It was too ugly, too painful.

  “I’d pick a man from the crowd, toy with his emotions, and never think of the damage I was causing.” She put her hands over her face. He went to reach for her but held back. “I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for the person I was. I tore couples apart. I treated sacred things as though they were trite.”

  “I don’t understand.” And he didn’t. What she was saying did not match up with the woman he thought he knew.

  “I don’t either. I was so wrong. I came and went as I pleased, I danced with whom I wanted, and . . . and . . .” She looked off into the distance. “I kissed them when I wanted to. I told myself it was romantic to sneak off with a man, skirting every rule I’d ever been taught. I was foolish.”

  The tender kiss in the barn had awakened something deep within Gilbert. He’d believed, or at least hoped, that what he felt, she felt as well. But now, hearing her talk of flippant kisses and careless flirting, he doubted. A heavy sadness overpowered him.

  “Do you still play those games? Was I—”

  “No!” She wiped the tears that were streaming down her face. “You don’t have to believe me, but I am not the girl I once was. If I could do it all again, you would be the only one.”

  “What happened? What ended the charade?”

  “Rumors were often flying about me. My father heard more than one story of my recklessness. He said he’d put a stop to it.”

  “How?” He didn’t want to know, but at the same time he knew he had to. �
��What did he do?”

  “A new boy, Charles, arrived in town, and I of course tried for his attention. He would have nothing to do with me, so I tried harder.” Hazel paused. “I’m sorry I have to tell you all this.”

  “I asked you to,” he said, but he too wished it were not real.

  Hazel took a deep breath. She let the air out slowly. “One day Charles’s friend Edward sent word letting me know that Charles wanted to meet me in the park at night. When I got this invitation, I felt victorious, like I’d won. I can still remember climbing out my window, smiling as I went. There was one moment, though, when I paused and wondered if what I was doing was wise. I didn’t stop, but I wish I had.

  “When I got to the park, a man I knew only a little named Nathaniel was there. We argued as we tried to figure out what happened. The whole thing was malicious from the start, and I should have expected it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gilbert said. Sneaking out, meeting strangers in the dark—none of it was part of his own youth. He’d been reserved, quiet, and always on a quest to better himself and honor his parents. He tried to picture her tale and to understand, but he couldn’t. “Why was he there?”

  “Charles, Edward, and some other boys had decided to trap me in the park with a man so they could shame me. They tricked Nathaniel into going as well, and they had the police show up to catch us together. The police said they’d been told we were . . . that we were . . . well, you can imagine what they were told. We tried to tell the police that we’d been set up and that we’d done nothing wrong.”

  He cleared his throat, willing his words to sound strong despite the weakness that had crept over his limbs. “Did they believe you?”

  “No. They escorted us to my house. My father had already threatened me, telling me if I was caught in a situation that would shame the family again that he’d give me a consequence I’d never forget. When he heard what happened in the park, he wouldn’t listen to me.” She sighed, and he could tell this retelling was painful. “He paced around the house, angry, and I believe he was hurt as well. For once I was innocent of every accusation other than sneaking out, but it did no good. He was determined to follow through, and I believe he thought his consequence would solve some of his troubles.”

  She paused again. He couldn’t bring himself to comfort her or to speak, so he sat, tense and waiting, bracing himself for whatever she was going to say next. It seemed unbelievable, but when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes, he knew she spoke the truth.

  “My father is a good man, but he was out of his head that night. He was furious. He ranted about what I’d done. Questioned how he’d raised such a daughter. He reminded me that he’d warned me, and then he sent for Nathaniel’s parents and somehow convinced them that it was their son’s duty to marry me. We’d done nothing wrong, but there was no convincing my father. I tried to stop it, but I was afraid if I didn’t comply, I’d be on my own. And, so, we married quickly—”

  “You are married?” Gilbert caught her elbow and turned her toward him. His next words zinged from him like a hand about to slap. “How could you?”

  “I was married.” She grabbed his arm, but he pulled away, too overwhelmed to find comfort in her touch. “I know what you must think of me. First the medical experience and now the name. I know you can never believe me, but I have changed.”

  “What is your name?” He rubbed his chest. Daggers could not have hurt worse than the stabs of betrayal piercing him. He’d trusted her. “Are you even Hazel?”

  “I am Hazel. I was Hazel Bradshaw before I was married, and after I became Hazel Williams. I only told you that lie to protect myself, not to hurt you.”

  “From your husband? Is that who you’re afraid of?” He raked his hands through his hair. How could this be true?

  “No,” she shouted through her tears. “Not from him. He’s dead.”

  He wanted to shake her and wipe her tears all at the same time. He felt weak, but he also burned with rage. The line between reality and fiction blurred, and he didn’t know what to think or what to cling to. This story she told, surely it was not real.

  “We were married for six months,” she said through her tears. Each teardrop that ran down her face added to the turmoil twisting in his gut.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. I hurt because of shame and regret, but no, Nathaniel didn’t hurt me. He was angry at first, but I can’t blame him for that. The whole joke had begun because of me. It was a punishment for my sins, not his. We became friends, but even then, I always wondered if he regretted our marriage. He was a good man though.”

  He said nothing but handed her a handkerchief.

  “Before Nathaniel died, he became secretive, going out at night. I followed him once because I feared he was meeting another woman. But he didn’t meet anyone. He went onto one of his father’s boats.” Hazel shivered. It was not the cold but the memories that affected her, Gilbert could only assume. “It was only a few days later that police brought him home nearly dead. They told me he was caught in a cross fire, someone else’s brawl, they said. He woke briefly and said a few words about his parents’ boat. I believed his death was not an accident. I went to the police to see if they’d investigate.”

  “He died then?” Gilbert asked, trying to understand the sequence of events.

  “Yes, he died the night they brought him home to me hurt.”

  “Did you move back to your parents’ home?” Gilbert asked.

  “No.”

  He waited.

  “I was arrested two days later on charges of burglary. They found jewels in my house that belonged to someone else.” Her right hand went to her throat where a necklace, no doubt, had hung whenever she went to a party. “If my parents had not been of good standing, I may have been hung.”

  “Was there any truth to the charges?”

  “I did not steal anything.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I spent five long years at a reformatory for women. The House of Refuge.”

  “A prison?”

  “Yes, in a way. Though we didn’t just sit behind bars. We took classes and worked. It was the matron’s belief that we could change if disciplined and schooled. She was a modern thinker, and though her methods could be harsh, she truly believed the women were capable of transformation.”

  “Was she right?” Gilbert’s life had never required him to spend time thinking about prisons or transforming convicts. He knew men and women were capable of change, but could criminals be reformed as well? He cringed, not liking the thought of Hazel as a convict.

  “Not everyone changed, but some did. At first I was only concerned with learning how to succeed in my new environment and how to avoid punishment, but I watched the women around me and saw what the work and focus were doing for those who truly cared.” She looked past him, down the hill to where the small white church was. “I listened to the preachers. They spoke the same words I’d heard my whole life, but they meant so much more to me during those dark days. I believed their words that the Lord could meet me in the lowliest places. I’d started to change who I was while married to Nathaniel, but it was within the reformatory’s cold walls that I found the Lord and truly learned to care for others. I’m far from perfect.” Hazel faced him again, meeting his eye. “But I’m not the same girl I was before.”

  He sat silently beside her, struggling to picture the vibrant Hazel as a flippant young girl and then older and playing the part of a criminal, locked away from the rest of the world. How did those sides of her fit with the woman who sat beside him, the woman he knew and cared for? Who was she really? He could walk away right now and never look back. A part of him wanted that. But his old, quiet life before Hazel did not appeal to him like it used to.

  When he said nothing, she stood and walked a few steps away. “I should go.”

  He put a hand out and stopped her, wanting to know more. “What was it like?”

  “The reformatory?”
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br />   “Yes, all of it. What was it like?” he asked. “Help me understand.”

  “No one has ever asked me that.”

  “Tell me?”

  “There were rules for everything, even how many letters we could get and if we were allowed visitors.” Quickly, she told him of the tears she shed, the women she met, and her movement around the main building and eventually to a cabin on the outskirts. “The women I lived with were mostly poor and uneducated, but we became like family. I taught them to read and write, and they taught me resilience.” She sighed, and he knew that whoever these women were and no matter what their crimes had been, Hazel had cared for them. “Some of the wardens were harsh, and there wasn’t always adequate food. Many days I felt like those in charge were looking for me to make mistakes so they could issue punishment. But that was not the worst thing.”

  “What was the worst?”

  “Even as we counted down our sentences, we knew we’d return to a world that would never forgive us.”

  “I’ve never considered it before, but that doesn’t seem fair. Your sentence had already been served.”

  “I’ll be forever grateful for what I gained there, but I’m also keenly aware of all I lost. I lost my future. It’s why I gave you a false name. I needed money and couldn’t risk losing work on account of my history. Everyone before you turned me away when I told them where I’d come from and who I was. I came to Amherst nearly penniless and did what I had to do. I’m sorry for it.”

  “What happened next?”

  “There isn’t much more. My parents sent me money and some of my belongings so I could get by on my own.”

  He turned his head quickly. “You’ve not been home?”

  “No. I have brothers busy with schooling and younger sisters who are out in society trying to snare wealthy husbands. If I’m there, I’ll remind the world that my family has a mark against it.” Another wave of sadness swept across her face, darkening her features like a cloud blocking the sun. “My parents have to think of my siblings as well. I can hardly blame them for severing ties. Though I do dream of returning one day.”